


still alive but barely breathing

by Lire_Casander



Series: make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes Appreciation Week 2019) [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Week 2019, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 15:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: 'cause when a heart breaks, it don't break even





	still alive but barely breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary taken from _Breakeven_ by The Script. It belongs to the _**make a feast out of these crumbs (the Alex Manes' Appreciation Week 2019)**_ series, whose title also belongs to a song by The Script, _Live Like We're Dying_.
> 
> This is written for the [Alex Manes' Appreciation Week](https://rawandmessyandbeautiful.tumblr.com/post/184555967345/ive-created-this-appreciation-week-in-response) over at tumblr, _**Day 1: Dreaming with a broken heart…**_
> 
> Anything you recognize is not mine, although any and every mistake is my own.
> 
> I have to thank both [estel_willow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow) and [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans) for their hand holding and support. You know I wouldn't be writing this in the first place without the two of you!

Whenever he closes his eyes, he allows himself the solace his soul needs. In the little world he’s created for himself, there is no pain laced with a past he can’t escape of anymore. There are no tears – at least no _sad_ ones – and he has a happy family surrounding him. A family he’s made for himself, because even in his dreams he knows he could never fix the wrongs Jesse Manes and the rest of his ancestors have done throughout the years.

Behind his eyelids, there’s a whole world to discover. A place where he can be himself, leather jacket and spiked hair, a cane in one hand, fingers holding the other one. His dream world is a place where there is no fear, and only happy endings exist – maybe there has been a scary past, but this place is safe for everyone he wants to hold close to him.

In this ethereal world, there is no such thing as last names. Michael is no longer Guerin, and he can show all the love he’s been keeping bottled up inside, trapped by the fear of rejection and the menace of a future stolen by a hammer. When he closes his eyes, he sees his mother, young and beautiful, way before Jesse Manes happened. He sees _Michael’s_ mother, glowing hands on their chests, sharing her knowledge and her love and her approval. In this dream he gets to know her, to talk to her, and Michael finally finds the peace and the answers he needs. 

In this dream land, there are no glowing glass pieces to create a spaceship. There is no urge to find new worlds, for they all have what they want sprawled before their eyes. He can flop down on his couch with a glass of wine and feel their beagle settling on his feet, warmth spreading over as Michael saunters back from the kitchen with a whiskey on the rocks and no acetone, sporting a huge smile and a wink that promises of late nights and sweet loving.

Just one sigh and they are at the Wild Pony, playing darts and singing karaoke with their friends, Maria leaving the bar to hang out with them and laugh and be free of the past that accosts him when he’s awake. In this world, Mimi hasn’t lost her memories, and takes on chiding them for whatever mischief they get up to. Rosa never died – he doesn’t need to be reminded that it was reversed in the real universe – and Arturo is happy his girls have found the strength to be themselves in a world of wolves.

But what he loves the most in this little makeshift world of his own – the only thing that makes it all worthwhile – is the grip of Michael’s hand, healed and complete, tugging at him to follow a path of never ending happiness. And even if he’s being naïve, because the real Michael will only ever be the silhouette of a character he’s made up in his mind, he wants to revel in that touch as simple and gentle as it is. Because, whenever he has his eyes closed and drifts into sleep, he _feels_ the warmth of those fingers pressing against his scalp, and the savage taste of a tongue devouring every inch of skin.

He wishes he could stay there forever. There is no strife there, the past has been left behind, forgiven and forgotten underneath a pile of well wishes and a future that’s brighter than the stars will ever be.

He doesn’t want to wake up, even if he knows he’s daydreaming and the truth will come crushing his fantasy into ashes. 

For when he opens his eyes, he’s still on his own in a cabin in the outskirts of Roswell, alone and maimed, feeling useless, his broken heart on display for the vultures to pick on it. When he opens his eyes and dares facing his new reality, there is no music being played for him, no hands caressing his skin, no golden eyes to dive into. There are no first names, and no loyal friends he can turn to.

The real world is a scary place, where he’s been left waiting on Guerin for hours only to learn he’s chosen Maria over _cosmic_. His soul has been ripped to shreds and patched together again, scars puckering the tender fabric of his dreams. Max is cold dead in a pod, while everyone hopes to find a cure – Liz torn between crying over her lost boyfriend and celebrating the return of her lost sister. And all he wants to do is yell at them, spit all the venom pent up inside of him, because somehow all of them got something in return of their efforts, and he’s the only one who’s lost everything.

With eyes wide open, he goes about his days on autopilot, faking being a functional human and taking care of Kyle, who now has a whole new weight on his shoulders. He will never blame Kyle for having drugged up Jesse, but his former best friend is spiraling down into a dark well, and he has no strength left to lift him up. He just needs to keep breathing, move forward away the Manes legacy by setting it all on fire, and stop thinking. The world still turns whenever he comes up for air from his scarce silent moments – his mind is screaming the whole day, even when he tries to silence it with codebreaking and feeble attempts at destroying the only thing his father has ever loved more than his own life.

So he goes through life without trying to do more than merely survive, breathing in the polluted air that surrounds him, existence just a means to an end he still hasn’t decided about yet, for living means getting to dream at night, and those dreams – the memories of what could have been and will never be – are the only reason he has to keep breathing. He paints a small smile on his lips every morning, and every night he gets rid of the costume he’s made of himself, and readies his soul to be drunk on hopes and high on dreams.

But during the nights, when the stars are his only confidants, he closes his eyes and allows his soul to soar, seeking for the world he knows he deserves, even if he doesn’t know how to reach it anymore.


End file.
